


Tasting Freedom

by Clowns_or_Midgets



Series: The Sound Of Silence [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aphasia, Brain Injury, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Mute Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-17 16:03:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3535541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clowns_or_Midgets/pseuds/Clowns_or_Midgets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The reality of Sam's situation hits and he decides a hospital is the last place he needs to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tasting Freedom

**Author's Note:**

> Sooooo sorry. I thought I had already posted this one in September when I posted on FFnet. It wasn't until I got a comment for Bargaining that I realized this wasn't here yet. Thank you Brandi for the reminder.

**_Tasting Freedom_ **

 

The next morning, Sam was alone in his room. His father and Dean had gone to Bobby’s to clean up and get some food. Sam was glad of the short reprieve from their presence. He loved them both and understood that they were worried, but he needed a little space so he could feel freely without worrying about upsetting them. He was overwhelmed and confused. He needed answers, but as he couldn’t make himself understood, it was almost impossible to get them.

Physically, he felt fine, if a little tired. He wasn’t happy lying in bed without cause, so he was sitting in the chair his father had been in during the night. It hadn’t been a problem for him to get himself out of bed and into the chair, which made him think he hadn’t been out that long.

The door eased open and he turned to see the doctor come in.

He smiled at Sam. “Good morning.”

Sam didn’t attempt to reply, but he smiled slightly. It was the only way he had of showing his feelings.

“I need to run some checks, and I know this has to be difficult for you, but I need you to try to answer me. Can you do that?”

Sam frowned. He was reluctant to speak, as he knew it wasn’t going to make sense to anyone but him.

“I need you to try.”

“Okay, I’ll try” Sam said quietly and then looked hopefully at the doctor, wondering if he’d actually been understood.

The doctor shook his head and Sam sighed.

“You’re still having aphasic symptoms.” He pulled a chair around from the other side of the bed and sat down opposite Sam, clasping a clipboard on his knees. “I am sure you have a hundred questions and I understand you must be frustrated that you can’t ask them, so I am going to start at the beginning and explain how we got to this point. If your family has already told you any of this, stop me. Is that okay?”

Sam nodded eagerly, wanting to get some answers at last.

“I understand you were involved in a house fire. During the fire, you inhaled a lot of smoke. That irritated your lungs. Now, this is the first of the unusual things about your situation, for you, the damage didn’t present itself until a while after the fire. It’s not unheard of, but it is unusual. The damage wouldn’t have shown on an x-ray until long after the event.”

Sam nodded his understanding.

The doctor’s grip on his clipboard tightened. He looked as though he was bracing himself for something. “When you arrived at the hospital, you were in cardiac arrest.”

Sam’s eyes widened. He’d been dead! He thought he’d just been unconscious. His breath came in a gasp and he battled to regain control.

“We estimate that you were without oxygen for at least five minutes. It is the oxygen-deprivation that has caused the aphasia. This is where things deviate from the norm again. Most people with oxygen—deprivation-related aphasia have one of two types: Broca’s or Wernicke’s. They each have different symptoms relating to speech and understanding of language. There is a third kind that is commonly found, and that is what you have: Global Aphasia. Sufferers have difficulty with speaking, reading, writing, and understanding language. I think you can understand me well enough, but I need to run some checks.” He lifted his clipboard and pulled a pen from his pocket. “This might feel stupid, but I need you to cooperate so we can assess the extent of the damage. Can you do that?”

Sam nodded and waited for instruction.

“Please make a fist for me, Sam.”

Sam raised both hands and curled his fingers into tight fists.

“Excellent.” He made a note on his clipboard. “Now, I am wearing a blue tie. If you agree with that statement, please give me a thumbs up.”

Feeling a little stupid, Sam did as he asked.

“That’s great. I know these checks seem stupid, but they’re important to ensure that you are able to communicate and be understood. Some people with Global Aphasia make the wrong gestures when they’re nodding and shaking their head, as the messages in their mind get mixed up. You don’t seem to be having any trouble with that, but if you find that this changes, you need to make it known. Other aphasia sufferers have expressed extreme frustration when they are misunderstood.”

Sam wondered how they managed to express that. He needed to look into aphasia, though how he was supposed to do that was a problem, as he couldn’t write anything that made sense.

He reached out and gripped the doctor’s wrist gently. For a moment, the doctor looked startled, and then he smiled as Sam tapped his wristwatch.

“You want to know how long this will last?”

Sam nodded.

The doctor sighed. “There is no way of knowing. With brain damage like yours, it can be transitory. A few weeks or months after the event, speech can return as the brain heals and adapts to the change. In other instances, the damage is permanent.”

Sam’s hands fisted on his lap and he bowed his head. Permanent. He could be stuck like this forever. How was he supposed to live if he couldn’t even talk? He would never be a lawyer, that much seemed sure. He wouldn’t even be able to hunt properly. He wouldn’t be able to question witnesses or scam cops and coroners. Hell, he wouldn’t even be able to book into a motel on his own. He shook his head and got to his feet. He was overwhelmed and devastated. With one stupid choice, he had ruined his whole future.

“Don’t be disheartened. As I said, some people recover fully. It’s too soon for despair.”

Sam glared at him. What did he know about it? He could talk. He was a doctor. His whole future was mapped out for him. Sam would never get the things he wanted, the things he’d left his family to have. Hell, he might never say his brother’s name again. He might never speak to his father. He might spend the rest of his life in silence.

xXx

Sam lay in the bed with his arm thrown up over his face for an indeterminable amount of time, just thinking over what the doctor had said. He allowed himself to feel the full weight of what had happened to him for the first time, and more than one tear crept out. As the time passed, his sadness transformed into anger. This was his fault, he’d gone back into that burning house knowing it could kill him, but he wasn’t the only one to blame. He would never have gone inside without need, and the demon was the need. The damned yellow-eyed creature was the cause of this. It helped to have someone, some _thing,_ else to blame. It transported some of the blame from himself. He would kill it, the demon, and he would laugh while he did it. It had stolen his mother from him, it had stolen Jess, and now it had stolen his voice. He would make it pay.

But he couldn’t do that from a hospital bed.

Determination swept over him and he swung his legs around and then stood. He wasn’t staying here a moment longer than he needed to, and as far as he was concerned, that moment had come and gone. He was getting out.

He found his clothes in a bag in the bedside locker. The t-shirt he had been wearing was ruined, it had been cut down the middle, he guessed upon his admission when the doctors were battling to restart his heart, but his shirt was fine, so he pulled that on and buttoned it. His jeans came next and then his boots. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, lacing them, when the door opened and a nurse walked in.

“Sam, I’ve come to give you your…” She trailed off as she got a look at him. “What are you doing?”

Sam raised his eyebrows. She did know what had happened to him, right. She knew he wasn’t capable of answering. In answer, he got to his feet and made for the door. She caught his arm as he passed and he wrenched it out of her grip.

“You can’t leave, Mr. McGillicutty,” she said firmly.

Sam noted the use of his alias surname. If she thought he was going to climb back into bed because she said so, she was dead wrong. Sam was getting out of there, fast. He pulled open the door and stepped out onto the corridor. The doctor was at the nurses’ station and he turned when Sam came out.

“Sam,” he said in a placating tone. “You can’t leave.”

Sam glared at him. He _could_ leave. He was of sound mind and, though he couldn’t talk worth a damn, he was of sound body, too. They couldn’t keep him in here against his will.

He had no words for the doctor, no way to tell him that this was what he was doing and there was no other option for him, but he was going to make himself known.

“I’m leaving,” he said implacably. “And you can’t stop me.”

Though it had sounded fine to him, he knew the doctor hadn’t understood a word, as he looked at Sam with a furrowed brow and his lips pressed into a thin line.

“I understand you want to leave,” he said. “But you’re recovering from a critical medical emergency. You need to stay for observation at least a few more days.” Seeing he wasn’t getting through to Sam, he tried a different tack. “Think of your family. You brother was forced to witness your cardiac arrest. How do you think he would feel knowing you were doing this?”

That was an easy answer. He’d be pissed, but he’d understand. He was the one that had checked himself out of hospital, knowing his heart was going to fail within weeks. He’d dragged himself back to the motel, scaring the crap out of Sam, talking about the lack of hot nurses to die among. This was fair turnabout as far as Sam was concerned. He wasn’t even in as bad a state as Dean had been then. He just had a screwed up head and gnarly cough now. It would be fine.

Sam turned away from the doctor and made his way along the corridor; the doctor caught up with him and kept pace with him as he reached the elevators.

“Please, Sam, I implore you to reconsider.”

Sam shook his head curtly and pressed the button to call the elevator to his floor.

“Shall I prepare AMA papers?” someone asked softly.

Sam looked at the doctor and saw the indecision in his eyes. He wanted Sam to stay, that was obvious, but seeing there wasn’t a chance of that, he had to cover the hospital for what might happen. If Sam stepped out of the parking lot and keeled over, it would fall on them without the proper paperwork.

“Very well,” he said finally. “Sam, I need you to sign out officially as against medical advice, do you understand?”

Sam nodded. He didn’t know whether he would be able to sign a thing that they would understand, his father hadn’t been able to read what he’d written before, but he could at least scrawl something across the page.

The nurse returned after a moment with a clipboard of papers. Sam didn’t even look at them, he just grabbed the pen and scribbled his signature at the bottom of the page and turned away.

As he stepped into the elevator car, he saw the doctor watching him, and just as the door closed, he heard the doctor say, “Good luck”.

He was going to need it. He was a Winchester.

xXx

Dean was standing at the counter, waiting for the coffee machine to finish brewing. He was exhausted, having spent the night napping in the chair beside Sam’s bed, and he needed a boost before he went back to the hospital. The final drip reached the carafe just as John’s phone rang.

He glanced at the caller display with a furrowed brow and then answered with a curt, “Hello.” He paused for a moment and then his face paled slightly. “Yes, this is Mr. McGillicutty. What’s happened?”

Abandoning thoughts of coffee and tiredness, Dean crossed the room in long strides, coming to rest in front of his father.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Is it Sam?” It had to be Sam. The hospital was the only place they’d used that alias. What had happened? He cursed himself for leaving Sam alone. Anything could have happened and they wouldn’t be there with him. He needed them there.

John reached out and laid a hand on Dean’s tensed shoulder. He shook his head slightly, and Dean’s worry lessened slightly. He wouldn’t be listening, nice and calm, if there was something bad happening.

“Why’d you let him do that?” he asked harshly. “That’s not good enough. The kid was unconscious yesterday, his damn heart stopped. Don’t you think something like that needs a little time in hospital?”

“Dammit,” Dean cursed quietly. He knew what had happened. Sam had checked out. He shouldn’t have left. He would have been able to talk Sam into staying. He was the only one among them with even a chance of being able to do it.

“Okay,” John said. “Well, thanks for letting us know. We’ll find him. He’s probably on his way here anyway. And when we do, we’ll bring him right back. Yes, I agree. Thank you, doctor.” He snapped his phone closed. “Damn kid checked out of the hospital.”

“Figured,” Dean said, grabbing the car keys from the table and making for the door.

“I’ll take the truck,” John said. “He’s probably on his way here, but it’s a long walk from the hospital, and he doesn’t need to be on his feet already. Bobby, you mind staying here in case he comes?”

“Of course not,” Bobby said.

Dean made his way out to the car and unlocked the door. John reached his own truck and then turned back to Dean. “You find him, you call me and get him to the hospital in that order, understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

He climbed in behind the wheel and gunned the engine, mentally cursing his stubborn-ass little brother. John pulled out onto the main road first, and headed in the direction of the hospital. Dean made to follow and then slowed. Sam was on foot, which meant he was coming the quickest way back he could find. He wouldn’t take the highway; he’d come through town.

Dean was a little pleased that he’d figured that before his father. If John caught up to Sam first, he’d strong-arm him into going back, and that wouldn’t end well for either of them. Dean had no doubt that Sam would still be able to argue with his father, even if he couldn’t talk. What was needed was coercion and that wasn’t John Winchester’s strong suit. He was used to orders and obedience. He wasn’t going to get that from Sam. He would have struggled to get in with an eighteen-year-old Sam, and the years they’d spent apart hadn’t softened Sam. Going it alone in college and the year they’d spent searching and hunting had changed him. He was harder now than ever before, and more strong-willed. Which, Dean though, wasn’t going to help him get Sam back to the hospital any more than it would help John.

xXx

Sam had overestimated his stamina when he left the hospital. He made it a few blocks before tiredness swept over him and he had to stop for a rest on a bench. He was frustrated at his weakness. He knew he was going to get static from Dean and their father for checking out early, and it would have been better for him if he could’ve shown them he was capable by getting home under his own steam. That was an impossibility now if the rumble of a familiar engine rounding the corner was anything to go by. The hospital must have been faster on the phone that he expected.

He looked up and saw the sleek, black car coming to a stop in front of him. Thankfully, it was Dean that had found him, not his father. He sat up straight, and cleared his throat as Dean climbed out of the car and breathed his name with relief. The relief lasted only a moment before anger won over.

“What the hell, Sam? What were you thinking checking out like that without telling us?”

Sam wondered how Dean expected him to have told him what he was planning. It wasn’t like he could call ahead. He looked blankly at Dean, communicating his frustration with a scowl.

Dean plunked himself down on the bench beside Sam and twisted sideways to he could get a better look at him. His scrutiny was so great that Sam thought he was going to check his pulse any moment.

“You had us worried,” he said.

Sam looked at him apologetically. He was sorry he’d worried Dean. He could clearly imagine the fear they’d felt getting a call from the hospital. It didn’t change anything though. He wasn’t going back. Dean clearly wasn’t on the same page as far as that went, as the next thing he did was grip Sam’s arm and say, “C’mon, then. There’s hot nurses missing you.”

Sam jerked away from him and shook his head curtly.

“Sam,” Dean said harshly. “You _are_ going back, so you can quit with that face.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. _How’re you going to make me?_

For a moment, Dean looked into his eyes, testing his determination, and then he sighed. “Sammy, I didn’t want you to have to know this, ‘cause it’d freak you out, but you weren’t just unconscious in the car. You were dead. You stopped talking to me and I thought you’d passed out, but you hadn’t. You were dead. I was driving beside my dead brother for whole minutes, and I don’t ever want to…” He scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed. “You don’t know what that was… You already know, don’t you?”

Sam nodded sadly. _I had to see you like that, didn’t I?_

“I’m a pretty big hypocrite, aren’t I?”

Sam nodded again. _Just a little._

Dean groaned and massaged his temples. “Okay. I get it, I do. You don’t like being in the hospital, but it’s better for you there, Sam. It’s safer.”

Dean didn’t understand. Nowhere was safe. He didn’t even want safe. He wanted to fight. He wanted to hunt the demon and make it pay for what it had done to him. There was no safety there.

“Please, Sam.” A hint of pleading found its home in Dean’s voice. “Just a few more days. Just till we’re sure you’re out of the woods.”

_I can’t Dean. I have to fight. I will lose myself in that place._

Dean stared into his eyes for a long moment and then breathed out in a whoosh. “Fine. I won’t take you back, and I’ll make sure Dad doesn’t either, but you have to make sure we know, the first sign of something wrong, you tell us, okay?”

Sam nodded and held out a hand to shake. Dean stared at it for a moment, and then took it in his own and pumped it up and down.

“That’s a deal, Sam. You make sure you keep it, or I will kick your ass six ways from Sunday.”

_Thank you, Dean._

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean huffed a laugh. “Dad’s going to be so pissed, and that’s all on you.”

Sam shrugged. There was nothing his father could do to change his mind. There was nothing worse he could do compared to what Sam was already living. At least now he had a chance of doing some good, even without a voice.


End file.
